


Long Live The King (or "The Living Will of Harry Hart")

by bicroft



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Fix-It, Harry Is Secretly Alive, M/M, Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 06:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6554032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bicroft/pseuds/bicroft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After V-Day, Eggsy is left with a broken heart, a cryptic hint, and a chance to fix everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Live The King (or "The Living Will of Harry Hart")

Somewhere in the afterglow of his cell-side rendezvous with the crown princess of Sweden, Eggsy realizes that no one’s gone to pick up Harry’s body. It’s an odd thing to think of after you’ve just shagged royalty, he knows, but that doesn’t stop the all-consuming horror that hits the pit of his stomach when the thought hits him. He pushes Tilde off of him where she’s laying on his chest and she makes a slightly offended noise.

“Where are you going?” she asks, sitting up and pouting at him. Obviously, she’s not used to being the one left in bed. Eggsy spares a look back at her as he pulls his clothes back on and picks up his glasses, donning them again.

“Sorry, love.” he says, and something in him really is; she’s a nice girl, and a nice lay, and _damn_ , one would think he really couldn’t do better than a princess, but he’s too busy thinking about Harry just lying there in front of that god awful church to even consider staying for round two. “I’ve got a friend I’ve got to take care of.”

Tilde sighs, but to her credit, she doesn’t protest. “Go,” she says instead. “I will see you again.”

  


Eggsy isn’t sure why she’s so positive on this fact but he doesn’t have time to consider it, so he just smiles and nods. “Catch you later.” he says before exiting the cell, and jogging down the hall to where Merlin and Roxy will be waiting.

“About time,” Roxy says when he climbs aboard, sitting up where she’d been spread out in the chairs. “Have fun, Eggsy?”  


“Loads.” he quips, mostly by rote. The banter was their norm at this point; it’d been there through training, and the last thing either of them needed after this was to drop yet another part of normalcy. They were going to have a hard enough time putting together their lives after this disaster without any added awkwardness. He pushes past her for the moment to get to Merlin, though, clapping his hand on the older man’s shoulder.

“We need to go to Kentucky.” he says, and when the other man doesn’t turn, he repeats himself. “We need to go to Kentucky; Harry’s still there.”  


“I know.” was all that Merlin says in reply, still not turning to face him. Eggsy frowns.

  
“Then you know we need to go to Kentucky.” he says once more, trying to emphasize the direness of the situation with just his tone. “Jesus Christ, Merlin, have you gone deaf?”

  


“My hearing’s perfectly fine.” Merlin says, still far too calm. Eggsy, in a fit of childish anger, wants to punch him in the nose and see if that changed anything. “You’ve just saved the world, Eggsy; sit down and relax.”

  


“How am I supposed to relax when Harry’s just lying there in the dirt on a different fuckin’ continent, dead?” he spits, and god, does he want to punch him. It was street instinct; if someone was getting in your way, you decked them, no questions asked. Sometimes it got you what you wanted, and most of the time it just got you a bloody nose right back, but at least you got something. It was only months of Kingsman training and the words of Harry Hart himself that held him back.

“We’ve got bigger fish to fry, you must understand.” Merlin scoffs, as if he were talking to a child. “Harry will be dealt with- the proper arrangements will be made, and he’ll be honored as he should be.”

  


“Dealt with.” Eggsy huffs, eyes narrowing. “By who, and when? After we’ve waded through all the bureaucratic bullshit we can stomach and let him sit in some small town American morgue for a month? After he’s fuckin’ decomposed? Merlin, we need to go now. We need to bring him home now, or--”  


“ _Eggsy_.” Merlin hisses, and the list of protests Eggsy was about to deliver dies on his lips at the look he was being given. “I promise you that it will be dealt with immediately by another agent- by someone closer, and someone that knows the protocol. I know you were close, I know you cared for him, but this is not your job. He is not your job; you’re Galahad now, and you’ve got more responsibilities that need attending to at the moment. Do you understand?”

Eggsy swallows the lump of fury building in his throat. _Do you understand_ was one of his least favorite phrases, because it was always preceded by something he can’t fight for some reason or another; for his safety, or the safety of his friends, or his mother, or his sister, or just because he knew it was true himself. Merlin was right, for all he hates to admit it, and for all he wants to knock him out and steer the damn plane himself. He takes a few deep breaths, staying silent until he can school his emotions back into something more manageable.

“I understand.” he says, through almost gritted teeth. There was more disappointment in his tone than malice, though, and the obvious pity in Merlin’s eyes helps drain the last bit of anger away into something more akin to resignation.

“Go sit down.” he says, and Eggsy nods, trudging back out to where Roxy was waiting, her brows furrowed in concern. She doesn’t press though, bless her. Instead, she sits down next to him and puts an arm around his shoulder.

“Your mum’s okay.” she says, and Eggsy offers her a smile.

“Thanks.” he says, and she gave him a smile back before they fell into companionable silence.

  
  


Eggsy goes home for a little bit after that; he sees his mum, he gets officially initiated into the Kingsman agency, he gets his new place, deals with Dean, and he starts over.

Starting over isn’t a fair term for it, though; it was more like picking up, since he really shouldn’t have even felt that much of a change. He’s starting a _new_ _chapter_ , not rewriting the entire book of his life, even though a small part of him feels like it was that big. Jesus, he really hadn’t even gotten to know Harry; he was definitely over reacting.

He tries his best to just live after that. He ignores the fear, dodges his mother’s questions, and his friend’s pressing, and the nightmares of the video feed from the church at night. The rest of the world, thank god, is busy trying to pick back up from V-Day, which meant that there is plenty of missions to go on; he’s out of the country a lot, stopping other wannabe Valentines from getting off the ground. It’s good for him, because it gives him something to focus on, and something to channel his anger into.

It isn’t until he’s back in the country for more than a few days that the package arrives. It doesn’t come to his new place, which is his first sign of something odd. It comes to the shop, which is the second; he’s never given the address out for any kind of delivery, never even given out the exact address to anyone but his mum in case she was ever in trouble, and one look at the box made is obvious that it isn’t from her.

His first thought (after “what the fuck?”) is that it was something from Kingsman- an odd thought, seeing as whatever Merlin ever has to give to him, he gives in person, and that Roxy never gives him anything other than the odd cheapo souvenir from wherever she’d just been, and even then, she gives those to him in person, too.

After a few precautionary glances to make sure that there aren’t any suspicious figures standing around the corner that could point this out as a threat or a joke, and then a few shakes to prove that it isn’t a bomb or something, Eggsy brings the box inside, taking it to a back room and opening it with a flick of a pocket knife. (This is his own, not Kingsman issued. Living a life like he used to, one was never sure when a little versatile backup could come in handy.)

Inside the box is nothing special. There wasn’t a bomb, a gun, a horse’s head or even some random trinket. No, someone has sent him this _massive fucking box_ to house a single envelope. It’s bright yellow, looking a lot like a gold crayon, and sealed shut with official looking wax. Once again, he thinks _Kingsman_ , but emblazoned on the wax is not a K—it’s three vertical lines connected by a single horizontal one in the middle; two connected Hs. Eggsy’s heart stopped.

_Harry Hart._

If someone had managed to smuggle a bomb into the envelope, or had it been filled with anthrax, Eggsy wouldn’t have cared less. He almost tears the package open in his haste, and he’s almost disappointed to find that all it contained was paper until he starts reading.

_The Will and Testament of Harry B. Hart_

He’s sure, at this point, that he’s barely breathing. Harry’s will. It’s Harry’s _will_ ; there had been no reading of a will at the small, silent service that’d been held when all the paperwork was cleared up. It technically hadn’t even been a funeral, as there was no casket or anything to mark the occasion other than the fact that it’s four attendants wore black and didn’t smile. (It had only been Eggsy, Merlin, Roxy, and Percival, who’d clapped Eggsy on the shoulder and said Harry had been ‘a great man; a wonderful agent’, which had done nothing but make Eggsy bite his tongue and nod to keep from breaking down or yelling at him. He _knew_ Harry had been a great agent, the best man he’d known, but it didn’t keep a selfish part of him from wishing that he hadn’t been, that maybe someone else had been put onto this whole thing.) He hadn’t even known, until now, that Harry would have _had_ a will, that maybe he had some things he wanted given off or donated, or that he had had anyone that he cared about enough to write this up. That last part, sickeningly, makes him jealous; Harry could have had a secret wife and family in every country in the world, and he’d probably have been none the wiser. There was a damn lot he didn’t, and would never know about Harry Hart, and the idea makes him angry and sick at his stomach.

He shakes himself from his thoughts and kept reading.

_In the event of my death, I should like the following:_

  1. _My home to be given to the Kingsman agency, to be used for whatever they see fit,_



This, Eggsy knows has already occurred; he’d asked Merlin about it himself. He’d been told that it was standard procedure, and meant that the next person to come into the agency would have a home provided for them, just as he had. It had dampened the idea of a new house for him a bit, knowing that some poor person had had to die to give it to him, but he was at least grateful that he wouldn’t be the one moving into Harry’s. There are too many ghosts there, and he doesn’t think he would be able to stand going to the loo and having that damn dog stare him in the face.

  1. _My books to be donated to the following charities, so that their work may be continued,_



Under that is listed the names of several charities. Eggsy figures that he’d be the one taking care of that, since the will had been sent to him, and as much as he doesn’t like the idea of going through Harry’s things, he could do it if that’s what the man had wanted.

 _III. All other of my possessions to be moved into storage at the following location_ ,

Here was listed an address, which Eggsy files away for later. He assumed that it was some kind of rent-a-storage place. The image of Harry going there himself to rent it out was both hilarious and a little heart breaking. He sighed before moving on to what looked like the last point.

  1. _All of my financial holdings and assets to be transferred to Gary Unwin_



Eggsy’s breath is caught in his throat. Jesus _Christ._ This had to be some kind of recent addition. It explains why the will had been sent to him, too, but _Jesus Christ!_ Harry had put him in his will; Harry had made him pretty much the sole benefactor in his _fucking will_. He feels like vomiting and crying, but he only lets himself do that latter.

“ _Bastard._ ” he breaths to no one in particular- no one who could hear him anyway. “You absolute _bastard._ ” Leave it to Harry to be looking out from him from beyond the grave. He would never stop owing him, would he?

He puts the paper back in the envelope, closing it again and slumping down in the nearest chair to scrub at his eyes and attempt to recollect himself. It’d been _months_ ; why had this just come now? And, as an even better question, why hadn’t it gone through Merlin? He shakes his head and sighs. He probably isn’t going to get an answer to any of those questions any time soon, so there’s only one thing he could do: make sure that Harry’s will was carried out. It was all he had left of the man, all he could do to somehow pay back all that he’d done for him and his family, and goddamn him if he was going to fail him one more time.

He takes a deep breath. Right. The first one was done and done, so, on to step two.

\------------------------------------------

Harry had a lot of fucking books. The only other place Eggsy has even _seen_ this many books is in a library, and even then he didn’t think it was comparable. He sighs; it’s a damn good thing he’d only just gotten home from a mission, because this is going to take a few days to sort through.

Most of Harry’s books, he’s both grateful and disappointed to find by the second day, are boring. Many haven’t been touched, and are covered in dust and smelly a bit funky, and pretty much all the rest were either manuals ( _Guide to Advanced Skydiving Techniques_ ; _Identifying Poisonous Flora and Other Things To Do In The Amazon_ ) or biographies of famous people (everyone from Audrey Hepburn to Malcolm X.)

There was one, though, that is neither of these things; it’s a leather-bound volume, obviously careworn and old, but not covered in a thin layer of dust like many of the other books had been. Eggsy finds it wedged between a copy of _The Gentleman’s Guide to Bartending_ and _Knots for Sailors, Soldiers, and Sadists_ (the latter of which he is going to have to take a look into for more personal reason.) There was no title, on either the spine or the cover, which is another thing that drew Eggsy to it.

He carefully pulls it off the shelf, taking a seat in the nearest chair before opening it. On the first page, he was greeted with a medieval-looking drawing of what he assumed to be a knight, and a few words of fancy script: _The Legend of Galahad_. His breath catches in his throat; this isn’t some kind of coincidence, he’s learned too much in the past few months to believe in that anymore. He turns a few pages, but instead of any kind of fairy tale, or any kind of story at all, he’s just shown pages upon pages of drawings, all of a knight in the same armor but with different faces. It takes him a few moments, but it finally dawns on Eggsy that these must have been the other Galahads; everyone who’d born the title since the beginning of the Kingsman agency. He continues flipping, entranced, until he gets to the last page of the volume with anything on it. Here though, where Harry’s picture should have been, is only a few numbers. _676; 3._

Eggsy stares at them a moment, puzzled. There could be a million meanings to four numbers; maybe Harry is trying to tell him some of the next weeks winning lottery numbers from beyond the grave. It hit him then, though: three. Harry’s third step in his will; the number was probably for the compartment. He smiles. Leave it to Harry Hart to make his will into some kind of fucking treasure hunt.

He finishes packing all but the picture book that evening, dropping them off at the locations Harry had specified. All of the organizations seem surprised by the generous donations, not knowing that Mr. Heart or Hartford or Mc Hearth had passed, and offer Eggsy their condolences and thanks. He thanks them in return, mentally berating Harry for his lack of variety in pseudonyms.

He waits a day before heading to the storage facility, explaining the situation to a slightly bored attendant before he was let in. He’s packed everything up himself, turning away help from Roxy under the premise of “just having to do it himself”, which had gotten him a look one might give to those charity adverts that used sad looking animals from her, and a sigh from Merlin. Doubtlessly, the two of them think he’s still in some stage of mourning, which… well, to be totally fair, isn’t wrong, but he’s refused to label it as anything more than what someone would feel when they lost an especially close friend.

(Even though what he and Harry had could have hardly been classified as a friendship; there was always a little bit _more_ there, but Eggsy doesn’t want to think about _that_ either.)

Either way, it’d taken him most of the previous day to get everything packaged up and put into a van, and it doesn’t dawn on him until the pod was opened that something quite prominent was missing.

There, sitting in the middle of the storage unit with nothing surrounding it, was Harry’s fucking dog.

Originally, Eggsy hadn’t planned on moving the dog; he thought that it would be a bit too final, putting Harry’s obviously beloved pet in storage to collect dust, and when he’d left this morning he’d just left it on its perch in the bathroom. Someone, though, had moved it, because on closer inspection, it actually _is_ the dog, and not just someone’s shitty attempt at trying to freak him out. He allows himself a moment to be creeped out anyway, before he edges around it, not daring to go to close just yet. If the hazing ritual of getting into Kingsman had taught him anything, it’s that wariness should be one’s first response to something where it shouldn’t be.

Two minutes in, the dog doesn’t explode or start rattling off a message, or do anything at all, so Eggsy takes that as a sign that it’s safe to move forward and examine it. At first glance, there’s nothing different about it, but when he squints Eggsy makes out the edge of a piece of folded paper sticking out from just underneath the edge of the base. He picks the dog up and pulls the piece of paper out, unfolding it.

_The same place as the first, the same time. I’ll be seeing you_.

Eggsy’s heart drops through his stomach and starts beating double time. He’s sure, now, that this has to be a joke, because the curl of Harry’s handwriting is the same as it had been in the book and on every paper he’d ever seen him sign, and there was really only one meaning to a message left in _his_ storage unit under _his_ dog left to Eggsy’s under _his_ will, but it couldn’t mean that because that would mean—

That would mean Harry’s alive.

Jesus Christ, Harry is _alive_.

Eggsy is suddenly filled with something between rage and giddiness; he doesn’t know how to label it, but his hands are shaking and he feels like he needs to throw up. He doesn’t, though- he just sits down on the floor in front of the dog and splits his gaze between it and the note until his hands stop shaking, and his stomach settles, and he thinks he can manage standing without keeling over.

_Same place. Same time._

It’s early in the morning, and Eggsy hadn’t been released until about noon, so he has a few hours yet. He doesn’t _want_ to wait, but, he doesn’t think showing up three hours early would get him anything but worked up again, so, he does what he came there to do; he moves the boxes he’d packed the day before into the unit, and puts the dog on top of the last box, closing the pod behind him with a small smirk. If Harry _was_ alive, let him move his stuff back out again on his own. _That’d_ show him.

\------------------------------------------

Eggsy, out of spite, is late to the meeting- only a few minutes late, because he really, _really_ wants to see Harry again, but being late at all would pick on Harry’s nerves enough to give him some sort of satisfaction. He has to keep himself from stopping in the middle of the pub when he sees a familiar head of brown hair, styled impeccably, as if nothing happened. The closer Eggsy got, though, the easier it was to tell that this wasn’t the same Harry that he’d seen before V-Day. His posture, still sharper than most, was slumped slightly, showing his age and his exhaustion in one, and a black eye patch made the rest of his well-dressed façade look almost cartoonish.

“Have you been ‘expecting me, Mr. Bond?’” Eggsy couldn’t resist the jibe as he slid into the booth. Harry’s gaze flicked to him immediately, and a bit of his exhaustion seemed to slip away as a small smile crossed his face.

“For five minutes now, yes.” Harry says primly. “We talked about punctuality, Eggsy.”

“Yeah, well, you were a bit _late_ coming back from your last mission, so, I figure we’re even Steven now.” Eggsy shrugs, laying an arm across the back of the seat and forcibly relaxing his posture. As flustered as Harry tended to make him, he wasn’t the one that needed to explain himself, now. “What took you so long, then?”

“There were… complications.” Harry speaks slowly, picking his words carefully, as if Eggsy didn’t already _know_ exactly how “complicated” it had been. Eggsy just rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, I saw.” he says, and lets the three words sit between them. Harry’s uncovered eye goes comically wide for a moment, shock that shifts into horror before he schools his expression again.

“I’m sorry.” Harry looks it, too, head bowed and eyebrows drawn together. “You were never meant to get drawn into this further; you weren’t an agent, at that point, and the fact that you had to not only witness my… accident, but then go into more danger is entirely--” Harry cuts himself off, shaking his head.

“It weren’t an accident, Harry.” Eggsy hisses venomously, louder than he’d intended. His voice drops back to a normal range, but the heat is still there. “It wasn’t an _accident;_ he killed you _-_ regardless of whether or not you’re standing here now- and I killed him.”

“Either way,” Harry begins, and then exactly what Eggsy said seems to catch up to him. “You killed him… because he killed me?”

Eggsy’s words catch up with _him_ as well, and the tips of his ears go a bit red. So much for being cool about it. “I mean, also because he was in the process of killing the rest of the world,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But… it was a bit for revenge, yeah.” he admits. “I just… I didn’t even get to say goodbye to you- or anything else I wanted to, for that matter- and it was all because of him, and…” He shook his head. “I wanted to do something, to make it right. I screwed up, before you left, and I needed to fix it.”

Harry’s face goes soft, and he reached across the table, offering his hand to Eggsy, who takes it almost automatically and without consideration for where they were. “You did remarkably.” He says it like it’s an admission. “You make a remarkable agent, and I’m very proud of you. Merlin debriefed me, once you were all back, and I’m once again very sorry that you couldn’t have been a part of that.”

“ _Merlin_ talked to you?” Eggsy splutters, almost yanking his hand away in surprise. “That _tosser_.” He had probably already known that Harry was alive when Eggsy had been begging him to go back for him.

“You couldn’t be told immediately.” Harry says quickly, placating. “At first, my condition wasn’t stable, and after… well, there wasn’t a way that wouldn’t cause more ripples in the organization than was necessary.”

“So you arranged a scavenger hunt.” Eggsy snorted. “Because _that’s_ subtle and quiet.”

“You kept it a secret,” Harry says. “So, no one else has been let in on the secret; the objective was achieved.”

“Yeah, and you’re also a massive drama queen.” Eggsy’s words held no malice, though he was sure he was owed some. He couldn’t find it in himself to be angry at Harry when almost all of him was sighing with relief or edging dangerously close to affection. “This is it, then? You were just finally cluing me in?”

“I also wanted to be the one to formally induct you.” Harry says. Eggsy’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline, so, he explains further. “It’s Arthur’s job, to see to the addition of new agents.”

“You’re Arthur now?” Eggsy frowns. “Who’s Galahad, then?”

“The selection process for a new agent is already underway.” Harry says. “By the laws of the organization, we can’t deny the other members the chance to put forth their candidates, and I _did_ technically die- you were right about that. However,” He pauses here, probably for dramatic effect, and Eggsy has to resist the urge to roll his eyes again. “There is a new position opening, one you would be the first to hold.”

“What’s it, then?” Eggsy says, impatient as ever.

Harry smiles. “Excalibur. Merlin is Arthur’s advisor, his right hand. Excalibur would be his weapon.”

“Weapon?” Eggsy isn’t sure he likes the sound of that. Harry just keeps smiling.

“Think of it this way- Arthur if is M, Merlin and is Q, and Excalibur would be Bond.”

Eggsy finally matches his smile with a wide grin. “ _Wicked_.” he intones solemnly, and Harry can’t seem to bite back the laugh that bubbles forth. “Where do I sign?”

“The semantics can be handled later.” Harry says, waving the hand that Eggsy wasn’t holding still. It seemed a bit odd, to be holding Harry’s hand and talking business- or, to be holding Harry’s hand _at all_ , but Eggsy would take any contact he could get. “There will be another debriefing- Merlin going over all of your duties and such- but, I’m sure we could all use a _real_ break before that happens.”

“One where I’m not handling your moving for you, you mean?” Eggsy hummed. “I actually did it, y’know; all your stuff is in the storage place, and I ain’t going to be the one to pull it back out for you.”

Harry laughs again, and squeezes his hand. “I’d been meaning to do some redecorating anyway.”

A comfortably charged quiet falls between the two of them, neither of them speaking, but neither of them moving to draw their hands or their gazes away, either. “Before,” Harry begins after listening to the background noise of the pub became too excruciating. “You had mentioned things you wished to say to me.”

“Oh.” Eggsy had hoped that that had flown under the radar. “I, uh… yeah. It doesn’t have to be now, if you’d… it’s all kinda heavy, yeah? And I don’t wanna make it weird, or burden you or something.”

“You’re never a burden, Eggsy.” Harry says, and there’s something so open and earnest in how he says it that it makes Eggsy’s chest ache and his stomach flip at once.

“Right, yeah.” Eggsy managed to get out, finally taking his hand away and fiddling with his cuffs nervously. “I--- Jesus, Harry, this ain’t just something I can come out and say, simple as that.” He took a deep breath.

“I think I might--” He started, and then shook his head. No, no; he was past thinking now. “I’m… probably a little, y’know. In love with you.” The last part of the confession came out in a rush, as if saying it faster would make Harry miss it entirely.

Harry, always astute, and always hearing _everything_ , the bastard, definitely heard, and reacted accordingly. His eye widened, his jaw dropped, and then he remembered to school himself, and his one visible eye only shone a bit sympathetically ( _pityingly,_ an awful part of Eggsy’s brain sneered) as he got himself under control. “Oh, Eggsy,” he said, voice quiet, and all that tone made Eggsy want to do was fight.

“I didn’t say it ‘cause I wanted you to look at me like I was a hurt puppy or summat.” he snapped back. “I just… bleeding hell, Harry, losing you _killed_ me—I mean, it actually killed you, but when I was watching that video I just… I thought my heart was going to tear itself in half; I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t process anything other than the fact that you were gone, and the last thing you remembered me doing was screwing up, and I didn’t even get a chance to make it right, or say goodbye, and you were really the only person other than my mum who ever thought I was worth anythin’ and---” He stopped himself there, taking another breath.

“I just… was thinking, after V-Day, and on all the missions that you just… you meant a lot to me. And I… yeah. I love you.”

“I,” Harry breathed, and that was the closest to speechless Eggsy had ever really seen him. “There are many, many reasons why I shouldn’t say anything close to reciprocation--”

“I ain’t asking you for anything like that.” Eggsy said. “I’m telling you so that--”

“That being said,” Harry said, cutting him off. “I do. Reciprocate.”

Now it was Eggsy’s turn to be speechless. “You..?” He tried to speak, but then lost his words again in the feedback loop of _holy hell he loves me back_!

“Yes.” Harry said, and he somehow managed to sound sheepish and sure of himself all at once, giving Eggsy a small smile. “And, should you want to do so, I’d like to pursue a romantic relationship—you’re under no obligation to do so, of course, and--” 

“Harry, _yes_.” Eggsy breathed, reaching across the table and taking Harry’s hand again. “God, yes.”

“There’d be quite a bit of negotiating we’d have to do.” Harry said warningly, but, he was twining their fingers together as he said it, so the effect was lost in the pounding of Eggsy’s heart. “Talking, fleshing things out.”

“I can handle it.” Eggsy huffed. “We can handle it; we’re secret bloody agents, yeah? What’s a little talking?”

“Your optimism astounds me, Eggsy.” Harry huffed, half laughing, running his thumb across Eggsy’s hand. Eggsy felt himself blush.

“Yeah, well.” He huffed in reply, dropping his gaze.

“I’d quite like to take you to dinner.” Harry said, and Eggsy nodded enthusiastically.

“Is tonight too soon?” he asked, and Harry laughed again.

“No,” he said. “No, I don’t quite think it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be My Kingsman Big Bang Fic, but it fell a little flat during the summer. Finally, though, it's done.


End file.
